


The Almost Dead

by TakisAngel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Gen, monk tibet, warrior mongolia, warrior/monk au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 17:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakisAngel/pseuds/TakisAngel
Summary: Tshering (Tibet) was enjoying a walk around the forest close to his temple when he stumbles upon a dying warrior (Mongolia) hidden in the snow. Quickly, he takes the almost dead man into his temple and prepares to help.





	The Almost Dead

Tshering had found the almost dead warrior on the ground. More specifically, on the ground surrounding his small temple, a couple leagues away, buried in the blood soaked snow.  
It had been a normal enough day before he found the warrior. He had cleaned the temple, weeded his garden, fed his stray cats, and took his daily walk around the temple, trying to find inner peace and tranquility, when he had stumbled upon the half dead mongol. Literally, he had tripped over the body and smashed onto the ground, something he was cursing himself for now as he dragged the man into his temple, and plopped him down on the floor. Now with the body in a secure location, and no medical tools in sight, Tshering started to panic.  
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, there's a dead body in my temple,” Tshering muttered over and over again, looking for a towel or water or SOMETHING that could stop the startled wounds that had started to bleed again. Finally, he found his medical kit he kept in the back for just this type of situation and dashed back to the groaning man, who suddenly made clear that he was not in fact dead.  
“Stay still,” Tshering advised as he knelt down and started ripping off the dirty closed of the now conscious man, who decided that just as he was about to get medical treatment was the best time to start wondering what the heck was going on.  
“W-what? Where am I? Who are you? And what are you doing with- ARGH!” The warrior screamed in pain as his wounds were reopened and Tshering placed more pressure on them. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!”  
“No, I'm trying to save your life. Hold still.”  
“Don't you dare come any closer with that knife- HOLY SHIT!” The man screamed again, weakly trying to push the monk away as Tshering cut off all the bandages and started to dig out a rock that had buried itself on the large wound on the warrior’s chest. “STOP IT!”  
“Do you want to die?” Tshering asked calmly.  
“NOW I DO!” the warrior roared back. He kept trying to push away the healer in panic until Tshering decided enough was enough and got up to get something.  
“Where are you going?” Eyes narrowed in suspicion, the wounded man watched as Tshering dumped a bottle of liquid into a cup and presented it to the warrior.  
“Drink it. It'll help with the pain.”  
“And I should trust you why?”  
“Because I'm the only thing that stands between you and death by blood loss,” the monk snorted. The temple was silent for a couple minutes as he said nothing, before Tshering grew impatient and shoved it towards him. “If you don't drink this I will be the nearest candle stick and knock you out that way.”  
The warrior looked straight into the monk’s eyes and saw that he wasn't exaggerating. Deciding that death by poison was better than death by stab wounds, he yanked the cup out of his healer’s hand and gulped it down. The world started to fade mere seconds afterwards, and just like that the man was passed out on the floor.  
“Much better. Okay, let's get you healed.” The monk spent the rest of the time putting on new bandages, replacing the warrior’s robes, before finally coming down to the man’s worst wound of all. His mangled leg.  
The leg was in tatters, and fragments of bone peeking out behind the ripped gashes of skin. The bottom half of the leg was in ribbons, and the top half didn’t look much better. Tshering gave a sigh of regret. The leg had to go.  
He left the temple and returned hastily with a cutting tool in hand, cursing at the fact that he didn’t have anything else to do the procedure with. He sat down and took a deep breath. It had to be done quickly before it got more infected and killed the man once and for all. The dead tissue was already growing past the bloodied wounds, and Tshering pushed away every pacifist bone in his body and prepared to cut off the leg, cleaning and medical supplies ready, when the warrior again decided this was the perfect time to wake up.  
“Ugh, I feel like I drank seven bottles of opium what- OH MY GOD GET AWAY FROM MY LEG YOU LUNATIC!” the man shrieked, trying to yank away his leg but then reeling in pain.  
“Stop moving,” Tshering ordered, grabbing the leg despite protests and putting it closer.  
“No, no, no. Please not my leg. Anything but my leg,” the man raved, weakly trying to move it and then staring into the temple ceiling, eyes growing cloudy. “My arm I can live with. My fingers I can go without. But not my leg. Please not my leg.”  
The monk stopped dead and stared at the broken man before him. “I have to,” he explained. “If I don’t you’ll die. Best case scenario, you’ll never be able to use or move this leg again. Worst case scenario, well, you know what that is.”  
“I don’t care! Just not my leg! Let it kill me if you have to! I’d rather die whole than live a cripple!”  
“Well too bad, because you're going to live, one way or another,” Tshering declared, determination filling his heart before his eyes involuntarily gazed back at the warrior. He was lying there broken, a shell of what he must have once been. He had seen scars that had been inflicted over his body while he was redressing the man’s wounds, and knew that he must have been a great warrior of some kind. He had even found a dagger or two on the ground next to where he had lied in the the snow. And now the man was sitting in a temple about to have his leg chopped off.  
“What’s your name?”  
“Why do you care?” the man spat back, the look of defeat he had seen earlier vanishing into a look of hatred, one that obviously suited the man much better.  
“Well, when you live, I’ll have to take care of you until you get used to having one leg. So what’s your name?” Tshering stated calmly, not looking at the warrior and getting his tools ready once more.  
“What do you mean ‘when I survive?’ I thought I told you to let me die!”  
“Nope. You're going to live.”  
“Are you a doctor or NOT?! Let. Me. Die,” he commanded, before being wracked with pain. The monk appeared to consider his request before going up to get something from his medicine cabinet in the far right of the temple. When he came back, he was holding a glass of foul smelling liquid.  
“Well? You want to die right? This poison will kill you,” he stated with a blank face, causing the warrior's brow to furrow in confusion. The monk was actually going to let him die? He looked at the poison for a couple seconds, before looking his mangled leg. Better the demon you know and won’t fill you with pain, he thought, gesturing for the poison. The monk silently handed it to him, and he gulped it down, wincing at the foul taste before lying back down, as the world started to get hazy.  
Tshering could have danced with delight when he saw the warrior give himself an exorbitant amount of the knock out drug, and quickly went back to preparing for the operation. The man groaned before muttering something Tshering couldn’t hear.  
“What was that?”  
“I’m happy to die.” The monk stopped dead once again. The man was delusional, he told himself. These were simply the rambling words of a drugged man.  
Why?” he asked despite himself, not knowing why he had said the words.  
“I don’t have anyone anymore. I killed my best friend. My brother tried to kill me multiple times. I disowned my sister,” he confessed, gripping a rock that had stumbled into the small, forgotten temple. The floor shivered, cold seeping up and curling through the air. The scent of iron and blood drifted with it, and Tshering felt the frigid air burrow into his skin as the man spoke his dying words. “I betrayed my army, my general, to become a mercenary. And for what? For the money?” The warrior gave a bitter laugh. “I killed so many, done such horrible, horrible things I’ll never forget for as long as I live. I see so many faces when I close my eyes. I’m glad that I’ll never have to carry that weight again.”  
“And so you choose to die?”  
“Yes. At least I’ll finally get some sleep now,” he chuckled, staring at the roof with misty eyes, mouth curled into the first thing resembling a smile he had seen on the warrior. The monk couldn’t help staring, the emotion and just pure gratefulness dripping from his words and onto his lying heart.  
“You’re not going to die.”  
“What?”  
“You are not going to die.”  
“Why?” he mumbled, eyelids drooping with the drug finally taking effect.  
“Because you still have a life to lead.”  
“I have none. I’ve done things that would your toes curl. I’ve done things that would make you stab that knife into my dead heart. When I die today, I won’t be missed.”  
“What do you mean, ‘when you die today?’ You aren’t going anywhere.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because I’m going to save you. After this, I’m going to make sure you get better. I’m going to save your life, and give you a life worth living.”  
“I doubt you can do that.”  
“Watch me. If you had stumbled upon a doctor, he probably would have let you die. Heck, most people would have,” Tshering shrugged, feeling a hand of determination seize his heart. “Unfortunately for you, you landed on the doorstep of the most idealistic, pacifist, and determined monk in all of Asia. So you’re not going anywhere.” The monk gave a steely gaze to the warrior, only to find the drugs had taken effect and he was lying passed out on the floor.  
\----  
The procedure was over, and the Tibetan monk was washing his hands of the blood from the amputation when he heard a soft whisper coming from the crippled man behind him. He walked over to the man, and saw the face of the man, no longer drugged, eyes empty with emotion except a shred of one.  
“My name is Munkhbat.”


End file.
